


Ji’khar’s Tale

by Erkhyan



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Eventual Romance, Gen, Light Angst, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erkhyan/pseuds/Erkhyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Khajiit who’s taken to roaming the wilds of Tamriel after contracting lycanthropy wanders into Skyrim and discovers that his nemeses, the Silver Hand, have already established a firm presence in the land of Nords.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ji’khar’s Tale

_The Jerall Mountains, North of Bruma, 4E200_

“There he is!”

Ji’khar cursed through his breath. He had hoped to evade his pursuers by hiding in a dark nook between two large boulders, but he realized a bit late that he’d left footprints in the thin layer of snow that had just started covering the ground. Obviously, the legendary khajiiti skill for sneaking around unnoticed didn’t quite apply to him. With a resigned sigh, he undid the straps of his travel bag and stashed it deeper into the nook.

His lucky elven dagger in hand, he stepped out in the open and prepared to fight his way through the group of hunters that had come for him. Night had fallen for some time already, but large auroras lit up the northern horizon and gave more than enough light for Ji’khar to see the figures approaching, gleaming weapons ready in their hands.

There were six of them, more than a single Khajiit could hope to fight alone—especially when he was wearing nothing but thick traveler’s clothes for protection. And yet, he had no choice but to fight. Those people hadn’t come to capture him. And he wasn’t exactly an average Khajiit…

“So, cat, tired of running already?” The Redguard who had spoken stepped forward, a mocking sneer deforming his scarred face. “Or should I say ‘dog’ instead? I could never tell, with you types.”

Ji’khar didn’t bother replying and simply moved into a fighting stance, the dagger held in a reverse grip in front of his chest. Though he appeared calm on the outside, his mind was calling for blood. The part of him that still remembered happier times down South had tried to avoid violence, to slip away unnoticed. Too bad.

The hunters’ leader glanced at his prey’s meager defenses and let out a derisive snort. “Think you can take us all, do you? Why don’t you just lay down that toothpick you call a weapon and let us do our job? It would feel less painful.”

Ji’khar allowed himself a little smirk. “For you, maybe. Khajiit will give you just _one_ last chance to turn away and live.”

He had injected enough confidence in his answer that the hunter’s smirk faltered for a very short moment before he remembered that he and his friends had a clear advantage in both numbers and weaponry. The Redguard shook his head and sighed. “Wrong answer, cat.” He turned to the two hunters to his right. “Get him, boys.”

The Nord woman and the Breton man moved forward, iron shields raised in front of them and silver swords ready to strike. The woman wore war paint on her face that made her smug killer’s smile look almost like an animal’s snarl. “You’ll make a fine rug, cat,” she spat.

Ji’khar’s smile turned into a predatory grin. He raised his weapons and gestured his assailants to come forward.

It had been way too long since he’d last allowed himself to enjoy a fight.


End file.
